


Yrs. For Ever

by youllbeadentist



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, F/M, Ghost Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepwalking, Spectrophilia, btw you guys have to put up with my eliza sleepwalking headcanon, i would tag this as a sex position but i don't even know what to tell y'all in that respect tbh, oh yeah also the hamiltons had a daughter named angelica in case anyone's confused, um Yikes hate to come back like this but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youllbeadentist/pseuds/youllbeadentist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what a way to return to this site am i right my dudes??? it's been 3 months, have some smut<br/>I am a frequent visitor of hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com and i recently found six little words there that changed my life -</p><p>"ghost laurens lams fic with ghostsex"</p><p>after a quick googling of 'ghost sex' i found out that it is in fact a very real and very interesting phenomenon. it happened to Ke$ha. So, um, here's my take on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yrs. For Ever

Alexander woke with a start, his heart beating fast. He heard it pound in his ears, the sound amplified, as he stared up at the ceiling and tried to even his breathing. He felt alert, almost on edge. It was likely left over from whatever dream he had been having. What had he been dreaming about, anyway? Alexander frowned as he tried to remember, shifting into a sitting position and leaning back against the headboard of his bed. There had been a cannon fire, in his dream, cannon fire in the background. Something from the war? It hadn’t been a nightmare. At least, he didn’t think so. There had been mud; his hands had been in the mud, his knees were in the mud, there was someone standing behind him breathing on his neck and -  _ Oh _ . A  _ different _ kind of something from the war, then. His face turned red with embarrassment, and the blankets on his body suddenly felt very hot. He made an attempt to crawl out from under them, carefully making sure his motions wouldn’t wake Eliza. Eliza slept like a log, anyway, except for...he turned to look at the other side of the bed. Eliza wasn’t there.

 

Things like this had been happening ever since the two of them had started living together again. Alexander had always had trouble sleeping, but when he had first met Eliza she seemed to be able to nod off with a snap of her fingers. But something had changed while he had been gone. Maybe it was giving birth to Philip that had done it. Maybe it was simply the fact that he had been gone. But the first night they had shared a bed again, he had been awake, much like tonight, and turned to find that his wife was no longer beside him. He had panicked, bolting out of bed and into the hallway, only to see her standing there in her nightgown. Her eyes were open, but glassy, and Alexander got the creeping feeling that she couldn't really see anything. She was holding Philip; he had only been a year old at the time. She stood blankly for a moment, staring without seeing, and then turned and walked away from Alexander, taking Philip with her. He had called out her name, but she did not seem to hear him. He had decided to instead follow her to wherever she happened to be going, which turned out to be the garden. She eventually sat down on the porch bench, cradling Philip in her lap, looking out over the city. He sat down next to her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. The two of them stayed like that for the rest of the night. 

 

Alexander had thought that such a thing would be a one time occurrence, but it kept happening. She tended not to leave the house, but sometimes he would get a concerned report that someone had seen her out in the streets, stumbling about, blank faced and unresponsive.That was the strangest part about it; she seemed to be asleep, but yet she moved around the same way she did during the day. She sometimes took the children with her, holding Philip’s hand and leading him along or carrying Angelica in her arms. But the children weren’t like her; they would either be asleep themselves or fully awake. Eliza was an anomaly. Alexander liked that about her. Sometimes, instead of walking about, she would speak. She’d bolt upright in bed and turn to Alexander, the same glassy stare on her face, and make some statement that was essentially meaningless. Most of the time he wouldn’t respond to her, just let her be, but occasionally he couldn’t help it. There was one occasion where she had turned to him, looking vaguely concerned, and asked “Alexander, dear, who’s John Laurens?” For a second Alexander had thought she was pulling some kind of joke. “Betsey, you’ve met him. You know John. My best friend? He was just over here for Christmas, love. Go back to sleep.” “Who is he?” She asked again, seemingly with more urgency, and that’s when Alexander saw her eyes. “Just lay down,” He said quietly, and she sighed, her head hitting the pillow with a soft sound of rushing air. “He seems different. That’s all.” She closed her eyes again, frowning.

 

John. That’s who his dream had been about, and as he realized this his face grew splotchy and red once more. His relationship with John had been...complicated. It had started at Valley Forge, a few years before he had met Eliza. At first it was just out of necessity; the nights were long and cold, and sleeping quarters were sparse anyway. But they found themselves getting closer and closer, and not just physically. Alexander remembered the first time they had kissed - the first of many times, after that. It had been...strange. That was the only way to put it. He knew it wasn’t something he was supposed to do. John was a man, after all. But despite that, it felt normal - strange, but normal. After they had separated, John had said, “Alexander, if you were a woman, perhaps I’d like to marry you.”

 

Things persisted on past that point, increasing in their intimacy - and hand in hand, their illegality. Yes, what they were doing was illegal. And yet, didn’t feel that way. Their lips met; they lent each other the service of their hands, their mouths, their bodies. It was one of the most intense periods of Alexander's life. John drove him crazy. The passion of it all, the heat, the roughness, the underlying taboo made Alexander feel like he was about to explode. Things slowed down considerably once he went back to South Carolina, but that was when the letters began. The letters were different; since their relationship could no longer be physical, they ended up writing to each other like separated lovers. Which they were, in a way, but it didn’t feel like that at the time. Perhaps it was Alexander’s fault: he told John that he loved him. He said so in his very first letter, simply and plainly.  _ I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you.  _ Their letters were sentimental, yet still maintaining the amorous allure their relationship had it was face to face. It was frustrating, to crave his touch and yet be so far away from him. Alexander often found himself so flustered it became necessary to take matters into his own hands - a step above figuratively.

 

When he met Eliza, a great sense of guilt washed over him. He was in love with her, too, and had been ever since he first saw her. Even after five years of being married to her, he sometimes got butterflies in his stomach looking at her; she was beautiful. But thoughts of John still lingered in his mind, and he would sometimes catch himself thinking of him when he was with Eliza in a...similar manner. It made him feel terrible. He told John about Eliza, about their engagement, and he seemed fine with the concept. They continued to send each other letters, despite the fact that Alexander began hiding them in his closet. He even invited John to he and Eliza’s wedding, though John was unable to attend. Eventually even the letters fizzled out, the flame of their relationship inevitably put out by distance and the wear and tear of daily life. Alexander wasn’t even sure if his last letter ever reached John; perhaps he had been writing to a ghost.

 

That’s right, a ghost. John Laurens was dead. He died in battle, a hero’s death, but a death nonetheless. Alexander had attended the funeral, he had seen the body in the coffin, he had carried the coffin out and watched it be buried in the ground. John was about as dead to him as it is possible to be. He wasn’t sad about it, not anymore; it had been three years, sadness got Alexander nowhere. It was more of a loneliness, sometimes. He was living a life he never expected to have, never expected to survive to even see. He had a lovely, caring wife, two beautiful children, supportive friends. And yet, sometimes, despite how blessed you may be, it is impossible not to feel a little lonely.

 

He was alone, in that moment, he realized.

 

It didn’t make him afraid, but he became uneasy, and relit the candles by his bedside in an attempt to alleviate this. It had gotten colder in the room, and Alexander found that the window had been left open. The wind was blowing in, and the curtain fluttered up and down.  _ I hope Eliza didn’t go out the window _ . He frowned slightly as he got out of bed, walked over to the side of the room and pulled the window shut. Since he was already up he decided it might be best to check up on Eliza, just to make sure she was at least in the house. He didn’t quite feel up to going back to sleep, anyways. Alexander walked back around the bed and to the door of the bedroom, stepping out into the darkened hallway. Sure enough, there she was, in her nightgown, padding down the hardwood floor of the hall in bare feet and cradling Angelica in her arms. They didn’t make eye contact with one another. Sighing lightly in relief, Alexander made his way back to he and Eliza’s room.

 

The window was open again. The curtain fluttered incessantly, and Alexander frowned at it. He knew for certain he had closed the window. He walked over to shut it again, then got back into bed. The room was still cold, but in a different way, on a different level almost. He pulled a blanket over himself and tried to go back to sleep. It was easier attempted than done; something was very clearly off in the room. Even the atmosphere felt suspended, as on edge and uncomfortable as he was. Alexander’s heartbeat sped up, and he was not sure why. Something was just...wrong. That was as much as he knew. The door to the room, which he had left ajar, shut very suddenly, with an unexpected noise that made him jump. The candles he had relit went out, leaving him in darkness.

 

Something told Alexander he was no longer alone.

 

There was an undeniable presence in the room. Alexander prided himself on his people skills, and he knew for a fact that there was always a way to tell if someone else was in a room. There was just some air of...humanness, when other people were around. He had thought, at first, that it was just Eliza returning to bed. He had hoped, at first, that it was just Eliza returning to bed. But there was nowhere to hide in the room; there was no way that anyone could be inside it and not be seen. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and tucked his knees up; he was afraid. Genuinely afraid. There was someone in the room, there was no way there wasn’t someone, he could hear the sound of bare feet walking towards him on the carpet and he was afraid. The footsteps stopped right next to him. Alexander could hear his heart hammering away as he felt someone, some _ thing _ , reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. He inhaled sharply, holding back a scream...

 

He stopped himself, because something felt awfully familiar. Alexander’s breathing began to even out as the foot of his bed creaked and bent with the weight of someone sitting upon it. His blanket fell away slightly, revealing his legs to the cool air of the room, and he felt another hand on his knee through the thin fabric of his drawers. He wasn’t afraid anymore. What he felt was more of a strong sense of deja vu, like he had experienced this before. And yet it felt surreal and strange, like something very important was missing. Someone - it was definitely a someone, Alexander had decided - leaned in close to him, creating the sort of tingling sensation that comes from near contact. He expected to feel some kind of breath on his neck from the closeness, but there was nothing there. The scent of new earth flooded his senses, mingled with sweat and the spiced scent of pomatum. Alexander would have known the smell anywhere, and he swallowed hard as his mind whirred and come to a bizarre conclusion. “Laurens, is that you?”

 

Alexander had always believed in ghosts, but as more of an abstract concept. It was oddly appealing; the idea that some part of you could exist after death, could roam around and interact with the people you loved. Perhaps this was because death had followed him so closely throughout his life. He had never had an encounter with a ghost - not, presumably, until now. He wasn’t frightened, more...relieved. This, presence, or whatever it might be,  _ was _ John. It had to be. John, his best friend, his lover, perhaps, was  _ here _ . Alexander didn’t need to understand it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. “I can’t believe it’s really-” He began, but his words were cut off by a sudden pressure against his mouth. He fell backwards from the unexpected force of it, his head hitting the pillow with a whoosh of escaping air. He felt hands on his shoulders once more, pushing him slightly into the mattress. John was...kissing him? John was kissing him. It was so comforting and familiar that Alexander thought he would cry. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed John, missed being with him in this way, and the weight of that feeling made his body ache. Alexander parted his lips slightly and felt something slip into his mouth. This too, was familiar; and yet the surreal fact that John could not be seen made this action equal parts arousing and unnerving. 

 

John detached himself from Alexander's lips, leaving them slightly swollen and wet from saliva. Alexander gasped lightly as he felt John began to kiss his neck, up near his sensitive jawline. There was a pressure against the bones of his hips, heat and friction beginning to pool between his legs. His face went red and he moaned slightly, his drawers starting to strain. He shouldn’t do this. Eliza was right in the hallway, and if she came back in...that would be hard to explain. He shouldn't, but - he mewled as John nipped at his collarbone - God, how he  _ wanted _ this. He missed John, missed this, missed being with him like this. The hands pushing on his shoulders slid down his body and up under the hem of his shirt, and the coolness of them on his hot skin made Alexander shiver. There was a force grinding into him, and he bucked his hips up to meet it as he groaned lewdly.

 

John's hands made their way between Alexander's legs and started to grope him through the fabric of his drawers. Squirming from pleasure and desperate to grant John more access, he began to slide them down his legs. The presence of John's hands was gone, for just a moment, as Alexander freed his hardened cock. When John began to touch him again, the sensation was exemplified significantly on his bare skin, and Alexander exhaled sharply. He bucked his hips with reckless abandon into John's hands, but over the creaking of his wooden bed frame he heard the faint thumping sound of feet walking in the hallway, bare feet.  _ Eliza _ . Alexander froze, his heartbeat accelerating, and John seemingly stopped too as his touch dissipated. Eliza’s feet thumped right up to the door of the bedroom, gave the doorknob a half turn...and then walked away again, her footsteps fading down the hallway. A wave of relief washed over Alexander, soon met by a wave of guilt. Eliza, how could he do this to Eliza, he loved her, he loved her-

 

He bit his lip and inhaled sharply as John began to touch him again, this time on his inner thighs, and his thoughts of Eliza were pushed to the back of his mind. His breathing evened out from his panicked state, growing deep and labored as John’s fingers caressed his sensitive flesh. John pushed lightly on Alexander’s legs, spreading them open, or perhaps Alexander did that himself. It was a little hard to tell. “Ah!” he let out a single vocal outburst as one finger slipped inside of him. The feeling of something inside his body was a foreign one - it had been years. And yet like so much else Alexander had experienced that night it was heart-breakingly familiar, a sense of unsettling deja-vu - the last time, the only other time, had been with John. The coldness of his skin was an erotically unsettling contrast to the tight heat of Alexander’s ass. John added another finger shortly afterwards, sliding them in and out of Alexander’s body, and Alexander began to pant and squirm. There was a heat starting to pool in his stomach, an all too familiar heat, and he braced himself for…

 

For nothing, it ended up being. John removed his fingers from Alexander with a barely audible wet sound, the sensation of his touch missed as soon as it was gone. There was an awkward empty moment, then another, but Alexander knew exactly what was going on. John must be kneeling at the foot of the bed and removing his breeches, then, in whatever way breeches work for ghosts. Alexander’s abandoned cock twitched as he envisioned his near future; John, leaning in close and penetrating him. It was an odd word, an odd concept to put into words, and yet nothing sounded more appealing at that moment. After what seemed like an eternity John’s hands found themselves on Alexander again, lifting his legs up and placing them on his own. It was an odd feeling; it seemed as though Alexander were putting effort into suspending his legs upwards, and yet no such effort was felt on his body. The tip of John’s cock pressed against Alexander’s ass, and he inhaled sharply in expectation.

 

John pushed inside of Alexander’s body slowly and deliberately, and Alexander let out a prolonged breath as the sensation filled him. It was painful at first, but it shifted into unadulterated pleasure as his body remembered the long forgotten feeling. The two of them stayed still for a moment, an excruciating moment, and Alexander thought he would burst if he stayed still even a second longer. Much to his relief, John held onto Alexander’s thighs to steady him and began to move his hips, pulling away and pushing back in a gentle rhythm. Alexander let out whispered moans, small, desperate noises, and began to move his own hips towards John’s. They moved together in an awkward harmony, gaining speed and losing precision, and Alexander closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling. He felt as though he were coming undone, unraveling from the inside out.

 

In his mind’s eye he could  _ see _ John; eyes dark and glazed with lust, forehead slick with sweat. Alexander could visualize every detail, every inch of John’s skin. It was an image made out of fragments, composed from bit and pieces of his memories, and those memories ran through Alexander’s mind and overwhelmed him. He could see the two of them years ago at Mount Vernon, muffled by sheets so not to wake George and Martha. He could see their awkward first time, at Valley Forge, the rushed creaking of the cot, the silence just after. Their history together, distorted and stretched from time, was etched behind Alexander’s eyelids, and combined with the throbbing sensation of John pushing in and out of him he felt as though he were being pushed over the edge. Alexander’s body felt as though it were melting, falling apart at the seams, and he panted heavily as he felt his bare skin rub against the bedsheets. John struck something inside him that sent a wave of pleasure coursing through his body, and Alexander’s eyes flew open as he inhaled sharply. 

 

He was staring up, up at the bright white ceiling of he and Eliza’s bedroom. It seemed so very far away from him, as though he were staring right through it and into the night sky outside. He could see the tips of his toes as his hips bounced up towards what looked to be nothingness to his open eyes, and he let out a single, breathy burst of laughter at the sight. It felt unreal, fabricated, as though he were watching someone else through a window. He was putting on quite a show, it seemed, and it was a shame there was no one else to see it. The house was asleep, as were most of its inhabitants; the air was still and quiet, a feeling that permeated even as he and John had their way. Eliza wandered the halls, holding her daughter to her bosom, stumbling about, floating dreamily on the border of sleep and waking life. Philip lay in his crib, blissfully ignorant in the way only a child can be, having met John only once and surely having forgotten his face by now. And then there was him, eyes wide open, breathing rapid, hyper aware of every experience he could feel at this ungodly hour of the night. He was the only one.

 

Inevitably, completely, Alexander was  _ alone _ .

 

John didn’t exist anymore, not in the way he used to. There was no skin, no hair, no bones, no blood. No ambitions, no insecurities, no thoughts, no emotions. No warm hands wrapped around Alexander’s waist in the cold of winter. No melody of a heartbeat as they lay together with their bodies intertwined. There were only the memories that Alexander held of the two of them, and even those were fading and washing away through the years. Maybe that’s all a ghost was; the last lingering trace of someone’s presence in your life, growing dimmer and less defined until it was no longer remembered. But whatever this...this spirit, this illusion of John was, it felt so real and human that Alexander’s heart shattered. There was a warmth spreading through his body, starting in his stomach and travelling outwards. A knot of pleasure began to grow there, and after a few more thrusts from John he came with a small whine. Alexander bucked his hips upwards with reckless abandon as he rode out his orgasm, and when it was over he lay back on the bed, breathing roughly.

Alexander’s legs fell onto the mattress unexpectedly, and he gasped as the rebound of it shook the frame of the bed. His eyes darted around the room as he lay still, his mind working double time trying to comprehend what had happened. Trying to comprehend what to do after what had happened. A cold rush of air blew in through the open window he had forgotten, and he shivered intensely at it. There was something different in the room; it felt larger, more intimidating somehow. “Laurens? It’s you, isn’t it?” he offered up to the silent air. His question hung unanswered for a long moment. Two long moments. Alexander’s heart raced, expecting something,  _ anything _ , and yet nothing happened. He stared forward into the darkness and spoke again. “Laurens. Answer me. Please.” desperation snuck into his voice, wavering at the end of his request, and he waited yet again. Nothing happened. No one was there. Had he imagined it all? He looked over his lightly shaking body. His shirt was stained; he’d have to wash it in the morning. Small, fingertip sized bruises were forming on his thighs, a faint, sickly yellow tone. Those confirmed it, right? Right? “Laurens.” He said it flatly, not expecting an answer. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes unexpectedly, and he reached his hands up to rub them dry. “Goddamnit, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> if u read this high five me when we meet in hell


End file.
